Sagebrush spreads it’s somber shroud
Above my last repose.
The desert winds caress the bones-
Whose local no one knows,
We left too late, I must admit-
I’d take no man’s advice...
From fools who scoff at wisdom...
Fate exacts an awful price.
They tried to tell me that late May
Was far too late to start...
02/03/2000 San Antonio, TX
The thought of waiting ten more months
Weighed heavy on my heart.
Three other families and mine...
Took off with spirits high...
We made our plans and told our dreams
Not dreaming we would die.
We’d heard of California-
It’s streams were full of gold-
And scoffed at burning deserts-
And folks lost in the cold.
We went South out of Fort Bridger-
We were told the trail was dry...
I’d made my boast of all I knew-
And said we’d all get by.
The baby died of cholera-
The heat got Mary Sue...
Their mother lost the will to live-
And lastly I did, too.
For years our wagons marked the spot
We all played out our string...
And then Apaches burnt the lot...
And left there not a thing...
To mark our final resting place...
To tell folk where we stopped...
It was the creed of pioneers-
To push on till we dropped.
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[This message has been edited by Gunslinger (edited 02-04-2000).]